


Hold Your Head Up, Keep Your Head Up

by motoroilfreeway



Series: Erotomania [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Condoms, Consensual Sex, Dildos, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Rape, fail!masturbation, lubes, pre-usukus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur tries  masturbating again and fails multiple times but then he gets it right (but not in the right way).</p><p>A side-story of Guilty Pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to have to say first that to be able to understand this fic you should first read guilty pleasure or else you'll end up going "??!????" Also that's usukus
> 
> I should be working on the epilogue of guilty pleasure, I know. And I actually am, really but a certain part is being an ass and won't let itself be written so I opened a new doc and scribbled these down. Just to give some more context on how Arthur coped with sex. I've been writing this bit by bit whenever I'm sort-of free.  
> Uh..yea. Prolly won't take too long to finish this one and get the epilogue out...it'll come eventually.
> 
> For now, enjoy five chapters or something of this...stuff

            At some point, Arthur actually tried to masturbate again, just curious to know what it used to feel like, to know why he was so obsessed with it in the past when he was a mere child who doesn’t know anything about sex.

In his trials to do so, a problem came to be.

He can’t get himself hard.

It was strange, really. He remembers how it was so easy before, because if it wasn’t he really wouldn’t be spending most of his time alone as child in places no one will see him to stroke himself to completion, not knowing that peak he was aiming for was an orgasm, or that _white thing_ he used to be afraid of to see spurt of him was actually his semen by the time he reached puberty.

Most of the time, his flatmates are barely home, and even if they were, they’re mostly asleep while Arthur’s up, or vice-versa, so he doesn’t have any problems in stripping himself bare waist down and lie on his bed, stroke himself in hopes it’ll make do. It has to.

But then, it doesn’t.

He stroked himself, let his thoughts drift off somewhere to get him into the mood, because maybe it will help, but then as his eyes remained fixed on his ceiling, eyes unfocused, he felt his insides go warm and his skin go cold. It was a mix of different sensations, and somehow regardless of the blinding fluorescent light above him, everything was so dark and damp.

His bed felt a tad different, and his room smaller, fit for one instead of two people.

He felt his fingers tremble against his cock, almost hard in his palm, warm and heavy.

He tried stroking faster, but it seemed to make him feel worse. Nausea accompanied the furnace-like heat of his insides while his skin on the outside felt cold; oh-so very cold he was shaking. His palms started sweating, but they felt so cold on his softening cock.

In the end, he was left with a nauseous feeling, his body hot yet cold at the same time and trembling. The precum in his fingers left it wet.

He licked it clean, feeling hollow. Absently running his tongue over his come-stained fingers he thought silently to himself, his other hand seeking out his underwear, neatly folded next to him.

No orgasm.

He did not feel anything.

What does that make him then?

He bites at his fingers and tastes blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prostate gland is an "O"-shaped gland that surrounds the urethra below the bladder, secreting a fluid into the semen that acts to improve the movement and viability of sperm.

            He tried fingering himself.

Of course, he wasn’t stupid. He’s not gonna go poke himself with a dry finger and try to see if magic happens. He’s probably the last person on earth who needs anal sex education.

He bought a bunch of lubricants---flavored, water-proof, for sensitive people, scented---along with a bunch of small packets of condoms---from the regular ones to textured ones. Arthur couldn’t deny the thoughts that ran on his head when he saw that condoms can have a variety. He even took one that’s guaranteed to be “very thin” to feel the cock better, even though he knows that the most that’ll get stuck in him the following night will be nothing but his fingers. He doesn’t know where to find a decent set of dildo yet---hell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll like anal stimulation much based on past experiences.

But if he wanted to know if he can really get an orgasm, he had to do it right, doesn’t he?

So with a basket full of condoms and small, travel-sized lubricants, he approaches the counter.

The look the pharmacist gave him was probably something a mother would give their children. But if it really were his mum, she would more likely pass out from crying first because her son is a perverted little fruit.

He gets flattered when the woman asks for his ID, doubting his age.

He’s 18---an adult. A true member of the society now. The authorities would no longer arrest that monster if they find out now; they’ll just probably think Arthur was a disgusting manipulator for seducing his own father.

He’s not the victim anymore.

This was probably why he decided to see for himself if he really is guilty in this little train wreck he made for himself.

Maybe.

He doesn’t really know.

Even he cannot understand himself.

 

            A prostate gland is an "O"-shaped gland that surrounds the urethra below the bladder, secreting a fluid into the semen that acts to improve the movement and viability of sperm.

Applying pressure on it also brings about pleasure on men.

Tearing a condom---the “ultra thin” one, because this is the first time he’s doing this to himself and he knows if his finger gets any thicker it’ll hurt and probably tear something in there. He doesn’t want to get admitted to the hospital for anal simulation if he fucks up.

He picks a lube at random, and notes that the packaging says it’s lemon-scented. For a second he wondered why someone would want to put their cock in something that smells like lemons.

He carefully slides his finger inside the condom and notes that it was too loose.

 _Well fuck_.

He rips the thing off his finger, snapping the latex and throwing it across his room.

He throws the rest of his supplies under his clothes, in their shared closet.

This is not working.

 

            Arthur thought he gave up entirely.

Nothing works on him.

He can admit that sometimes the men in his movies were pretty and perfect and they moan so well sometimes he wonders if they’re really faking it. He knows how having sex so much makes it boring that sometimes even if you get an awesome blowjob you just can’t get yourself into it. _He knows it so well_.

Whenever he sees his favourite actors get all aroused and fucked and fuck in a way that makes Arthur feel things, the urge and want to do it really crosses his mind.

The rational part of his mind tells him its disgusting and unnatural that it makes his cock recoil and curl up into his arse, never to show itself again but this other part of him, the primal one that seeks for a form of release from all the frustration and arousal it felt from watching these movies tells him its natural and he shouldn’t be ashamed of doing so. People do it all the time. Arthur shouldn’t stop himself from doing so too.

But that is the problem.

He _can’t_ do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur getting annoyed at the condom and makes him stop from masturbating: He's got OCD. OCDs work differently on each individual and arthur's was the type that will leave him angry and unmotivated when a little detail fails to follow his blue print.


	3. Chapter 3

            It was around August, Arthur thinks, when Ned suddenly dumped a beautifully-wrapped present on his lap.

Startled, he jumps and bumps his knee on his desk.

“What’s this for?”

“Happy birthday.” Arthur raises a curious eyebrow.

“My birthday was on April.” Ned shrugs, sitting on his own bed and absently flicks through a hardbound book---Arthur notes that it was the book that went missing from his shelf last week.

“I just need an excuse to give you that.” _Because Emma will be hysteric if I don’t_ was left unsaid. Flip.

Arthur eyes the thing warily, subtly shakes it but to his disappointment, it did not make a sound. It has quite the solid weight. He then eyes his roommate. “What’s in this?”

Another shrug. Flip. “See for yourself.”

Still suspicious, he gingerly tears at the adhesives, carefully peeling off the smooth wrapping and dropping the pretty red bow.

He feels his face go hot when he sees the label on the box.

It was a dildo.

One of the good ones, even. It has up to seven levels of vibration, with a setting where you can choose the vibration’s pace. It has an easy-grip handle and a soft jelly-like shaft that gets stiff depending on how you set it so it will feel like an actual cock. It must’ve been expensive.

Arthur was speechless. From horror or astonishment, he couldn’t tell.

When Ned turns a bored eye towards him and sees him with the present unwrapped, he stands up and gently slams the book close. “I saw your used condom under my bed last week. It was empty so I figured you probably had a bad night.”

Ned puts the book down on Arthur’s desk, and then heads for the door.

“Condolence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aph netherland is a passive-aggressive son of a bitch  
> and his sister ships him with UK but they don't like each other like that so every interaction is awkward when aph belgium is in the room
> 
> also you guys can't really assume I know stuff about dildos right? ..okay maybe I do...a little. And those jelly thingies does exist, just saying. Also I kind of forgot to say that those condoms were real too, if you guys were wondering. They're stuff I see in pharmacies... (not the dildo, ofc)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur had Professor Bonnefoy in his lecture class once when he was taking world history. He doesn’t remember much about how out of 200 people in the room, the professor had seen and took notice of him.
> 
> But he did.

            Being close friends with a professor is not common in the university, and was mostly looked down upon. Not that it stops Arthur from hanging out with Professor Bonnefoy whenever the history professor invites him to go out drinking with friends.

Not many knows about Arthur’s intense love for literature once he moved in to university, despite seeing him most of the time on his own, leaning on walls in the hallways with eyes glued to his phone and ears plugged with music that’s set to the highest volume.

But he is.

It just so happened that his classes demands so much of his time that he can no longer invest himself in books as much as he did back when he was in secondary or primary school. Porn is easier and faster to read, since one does not need to pay much attention to details. It will always end up with person A’s cock up any of person B’s orifices, depends on what the reader came for to read. Same goes for films, really. Unless you watch an actual movie. That lasts for about two hours heavy with plot and tears. Arthur hate tear-jerkers. It’s annoying too when gays always end up with AIDS or gets killed by homophobes in the end. That’s just sick. So yes, he prefers his regular porn.

Arthur had Professor Bonnefoy in his lecture class once when he was taking world history. He doesn’t remember much about how out of 200 people in the room, the professor had seen and took notice of him.

But he did.

At first it was the submitted essays, that the professor never forgot to mention to the entire class that Arthur got the highest mark, then the next thing Arthur knows, Professor Bonnefoy asks him to talk to him during his consultation hours.

Arthur was never a fan of consulting professors. Even if he did not understand a topic, he never approached them during consultation hours because well, it _embarrassing._ So when Professor Bonnefoy asked him to, he was confused.

He was pretty sure he was doing well in class. Like, _very well_. This was probably the highest mark he got since he got into university, even. His love for history has probably helped.

When he reached the door to Professor Bonnefoy’s office, he holds his breath, then gives the door three firm knocks.

He enters when he hears Professor Bonnefoy’s voice, muffled, say “enter”.

He sees him in his desk, a laptop open in front of him, and he seems to be busy working on a document. He stops when he sees who it was who entered his office.

“Ah, Mr. Kirkland,” he says, smiling. He seemed excited to see him, Arthur notes with relief. Maybe he was called not to talk about failing grades.

He motions for the vacant seat by his desk and Arthur nods in thanks and sits on it. He’s still wondering why he was called.

The professor pulls a sheet of paper and a pen, then motioning at Arthur, he asks, “So, do you write?”

This causes Arthur to blink and stare at him blankly. Professor Bonnefoy laughs. “Like stories. A novel, perhaps?”

Oh. Arthur feels his face redden, mind running towards images of him reading erotica and sometimes crying over them when the story and characters were so well-written. “Er,” was all he managed to say, which the professor waves off.

“I just noticed the way you narrate your essays and I think you have the potential.”

“…Er.”

Professor Bonnefoy has an a hand swaying in the air, pen held out like a conductor in an orchestra. He was biting at his lower lip, that strange smile still on his lips and Arthur notices that there was a certain glint in his eyes now as he looks at his bewildered expression. It appears that Arthur’s reactions are amusing the professor, and it somehow made Arthur feel uncomfortable. He’s not really fond of people laughing at him.

Then those thin lips slightly quirks up and he waves his hand again. “Do you want to try working as a part-time playwright for me?”

Well that was unexpected.

“Huh?” was the only sound he managed to squeak out, eyebrows raised and eyes blinking. In confusion or surprise or maybe excitement, he does not know.

Maybe it was a mix of both.

Professor Bonnefoy continues, “I know being a playwright would be…hard on you, considering your degree but I really can’t bear to see that talent go without even getting recognised.”

Professor Bonnefoy’s words made his face grow hot. “Professor, that’s…”

“No really, I mean it. Come back to my office in a week with a draft. Any genre, I don’t care. I’ll give it a review and then we’ll see from there if I can change your mind.”

Thoughts. They swam in his head in circles. Round and round they go, like multicoloured clothes in a washing machine. So intertwined in each other its hard to decipher which was which. Parts of Arthur’s mind warred and argued, some are agreeing, some are ecstatic meanwhile some are angry and afraid. He felt himself step back, hands raised and voice trembling. He had to look away from the professor’s expectant face. “No, really, Professor---“

“Please.”

Arthur stops and turns to look at him again. The pleading look in the professor’s eyes were hard to ignore and no matter what it was, this man was still a teacher. An authority. It’s hard for Arthur to disobey, even though it would seem like the professor wouldn’t mind if Arthur did say no, which Arthur finds strange really. Why would you be okay when someone whose status is lower than yours says no to your requests?

So he tries to steady his breath and quietly nods. “Okay. I’ll…try.”

Professor Bonnefoy brightens up. “Next week, same time here at my office.” He reminds him.

Arthur nods.

 

            Needless to say, the professor loved his little script, and asked if he was willing to write something longer. “Something that would last at about 2 hours.” He told him and since Arthur was excited to write something, although was still in-denial that he likes what he was told to do for once, Arthur agreed. “Give me two weeks, if that’s okay?”

Professor Bonnefoy smiles at that, rather excited. He playfully slaps his arm. “That was _great_ , mon cher.” He squeals---Athur doesn’t know that the professor was capable of such thing, but he is---and Arthur notices that his French was slipping. That doesn’t happen in class, Arthur remembers.

When he submits the script, he got paid on the spot. The professor says that it was the right thing to do. Arthur doesn’t really mind whether or not the professor pays him though, but accepts it anyway because he supposes he’s an actual writer now (maybe) and money comes with that.

He spends the money on feeding Alfred.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re such a charmer.”

            What Arthur observes as he comes into the theatre were the dim lights. Soft yet hard shades of blues and reds and greens that lightly paints everything warm and cold. There are people performing on the stage, listening to someone from the controls, their voice amplified by a megaphone.

He sees a couple of shuffling from the dark, heavy drawn curtains and thinks that those were probably the other actors, waiting for their cues.

Looking around, seeing everyone appear so serious and move with purpose, Arthur started feeling reluctant to invite himself in despite the invitation he was given.

He just felt out of place.

He was about to turn and leave when a woman whose face showed authority and intimidation approached him, asked for who he is and why is he trespassing a rehearsal. The look on her face says she would be more than happy to kick him out and it truly scared him. He does not have the confidence to stand his ground this time and demand for something he was entitled to, like his right to remain because he was rightfully given the permission to because this is a place that he knows nothing of.

He knows nothing about theatre.

Raising a hand and looking anywhere but her, he manages to say, with a slight tremor in his voice, but hoping that the other never noticed, “Professor Bonnefoy told me…”

The hard expression on her face melts and for a second Arthur thinks he was talking to an entirely different person when she suddenly smiles brightly and regards him respect, like he was an actual guest. “Oh, yes, follow me.” She says, a bounce in her steps as she lead Arthur down the steps, towards the front most rows of the seats.

In the middle, directly in front of the stage was Professor Bonnefoy, watching everything in the stage unfold with a calculating gaze. The tints of the lights in the dark room made his face appear more mature and harder than usual. Arthur felt reluctance in his steps once again, but the woman from before pushes at him gently.

“Sir,” She calls out, gently but it was enough to shake the professor off his deep concentration. He turns to look at her in question and then brightens up when he sees who was standing next her and she adds, “He’s here.”

“Ah, yes, thank you.” He nods and then turns to Arthur, “Come, come sit with me,” he said, patting on an empty seat next to him. Arthur does, with no question and the woman follows to sit on the professor’s other side. He notices that she picks up a board lying on the seat, clicking a penlight open to read the small texts written on them.

She turns to look at them when the professor’s hand touches her shoulder and the professor says, “This is April, my stage manager.”

The woman---April---nods at Arthur with a smile.

“And this is Arthur, the playwright.” At this, her face brightens and moves to grasp Arthur’s hands in hers, tight and domineering as she shook it firmly. “I loved your script, thank you very much.”

Arthur felt his hands drip cold sweat and his face heat up, that expectant smile on her face catching him off-guard.

“Ah, yes.” He gulped. Then he adds, “Thank you.” She smiles and nods at him again.

When they were properly seated again, Professor Bonnefoy remarks, “We are having a run through on Act 3,” Then he smiles, nodding to the controls when the background music plays. “Scene 4, my favourite scene.”

At the voice from the megaphone’s call, the lights fade out and the music restarts. At the return of the lights, a soft glow in the stage, Arthur watches in interest as his story come to life. The professor watches his every reaction with an excited smile, a glee in his eyes.

At that moment, Arthur thinks that the professor was right.

 

            The play has a long way to go before it can be completed to perfection. About three more weeks, the professor tells him, probably longer.

Professor Bonnefoy is the theatre club’s junior adviser and the current play’s producer and told Arthur that he was more than welcome to come over and watch the rehearsal’s proceedings. Introducing him to the director, he was told he was free to talk to him whenever he felt a scene off from his script. Arthur thinks that the director does not really have to go out of their way for that, the scenes were perfect as they are.

Telling the director so earned him a smile and a pat. “You’re such a charmer,” he said. Arthur’s brows furrows at that, the director laughs and gave him another pat in the back, more powerful than the last.

“A charmer, I’m tellin’ ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April is an OC based on my actual stage manager, who could make me shit my pants when she's "in the zone" and is scarily friendly as fuck whenever we're outside the rehearsals and run-throughs. And no, I'm not a producer, I'm just an actor. That's all I'm gonna say.
> 
> also: guess who the director is ;)))


End file.
